


Taylor Swift Lyrics, Los Santos Style

by gala_apples



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 16:27:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15976082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: It starts simply, from what Ryan observes. It’s not like he knows the inside of Michael’s head. Could be Michael’s been doing some thinking for ages. But from what Ryan sees, it’s because of the selfie event.





	Taylor Swift Lyrics, Los Santos Style

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the crossdressing prompt for seasonofkink.
> 
> This fic was inspired by T-Swift's song 'Style'. Not normally my genre of music, but once I heard it I had this image in my head.

There’s this thing they do between jobs, or most memorably, during them. Geoff texts them to do something like race to Mt. Chiliad using anything but a car or motorcycle, or steal a cop’s badge but leave him alive, or bring him a counterfeit diamond necklace. The first person to do it gets a sticker. Five stickers and you get to plan a heist. The rest of the crew can throw in advice, but there’s no taking the core idea off the table. They all nearly died during Gavin’s ‘pretend to be a firefighter’ heist, but he’d won five stickers so what could they do? Geoff calls them exercises, a way to keep his crew thinking. Ryan thinks it’s a combination of liking to laugh at their failures -often tertiary FAHC members are recording footage for posterity- and finding a good way to blow off steam. Some of the crew members are a little more restless than others. 

The instigating event for Michael -in Ryan’s opinion- is the ‘selfie with the hottest hooker’ exercise. Ryan considers taking one with a man, but doesn’t. The event is unilaterally voted on by Geoff, and Geoff’s straight. He’s just not going to find a dude hot. Jack’s probably hunting for women for the same reason, despite also being straight. They present their five pictures and Gavin wins. Ryan’s not surprised. Plan G have the same taste in hookers. Michael though, thinks it’s bullshit. As Jeremy wanders off to play video games and Gavin phones the winning prostitute to inquire about a home job, Michael starts arguing.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right? Gavin’s, over mine? Look at these legs, this ass. What the hell?”

Ryan takes another look at the phone still on the table, and thinks that Michael has kind of a point. The hooker is wearing a black tank top that doesn’t do much for her boobs, but is a good contrast to the cyan blue mini skirt. Ryan’s not sure if it still counts as a peplum when the ruffle is only an inch or two below the wide band sitting low on her stomach. All length considered, Ryan’s surprised Michael didn’t get a bit of her snatch in the pic. The side view definitely succeeds in getting the lower half of her asscheek.

“Gavin’s had tattoos and perky tits, what do you want from me?”

“Look at the fucking legs, asshole!” Michael insists. “Tell me you wouldn’t cut someone like a fish if you were a girl and they were standing between you and this pair.”

Call Ryan a realist, but he’d rather date someone in boots, someone who can run fast if a date turns into a crime scene. This woman is wearing golden high heels, ribbons wrapping around her legs from ankle to mid thigh, ending in a cute little bow. Yeah, it’s hot, but she wouldn’t make it five feet from a pig before getting bipped. No thanks.

“Dude, I don’t know what else you want me to say. Make an appointment, or gank her and steal them. I don’t care. Whatever makes you happiest. Just fuckin’ stop scrounging for stickers. You’ll win the next, maybe.”

But Ryan has a weird feeling that it’s more than that. Ryan frequently lives in a penthouse with four other guys and a woman who fits in perfectly. He’s seen simple lust a million times. It’s a base emotion where he lives, probably top three experienced. This isn’t Michael’s _I wanna bang that_ face. It’s something else, and he’s not quite sure what’s going to happen next.

Michael doesn’t kill her and steal them. As far as Ryan knows he doesn’t even try a similar pair on at one of Los Santos fetish stores. He does do something though. The next time Ryan sees him a few days later, he’s wearing bright red lipstick. Candy apple red. Fire truck red. It should be ridiculous when considered on whole with his leather jacket and ripped ratty jeans and black eye, an essentially very manly look. It doesn’t. In Ryan’s book it’s hot as shit.

He doesn’t actually say anything to announce himself. There’s the ambient sound of the front door beeping as the alarm lets someone in, and Ryan’s sure he’s not the only to casually go for his gun, just in case. It’s a thin line between living in fear and anxiety, and making sure you can shoot a motherfucker in the face if he’s broached your territory. But then the footfalls stop coming closer, just stop, and a glance shows it’s just Michael in the doorway. 

“The fuckass is on your lips, dude?” Geoff asks.

“Barbeque sauce,” Michael says so dryly it sucks the moisture out of the air and Ryan’s skin puckers.

“It’s lipstick, you mong!” Gavin announces looking in Michael’s direction.

“Are you seriously informing _me_ of that?”

“Pretty sure he knows what he applied, Gav.” Jack turns to Michael. “Also you have a bit on your teeth.”

“Fuck you I do not. I checked and shit.”

“You have to check multiple times. That’s what those mirror jobbies are for.” Gavin explains.

“They’re called compacts, idiot,” Ryan replies. He’s a book learner.

“I’m not carrying a motherfucking compact.” Michael snaps.

“You will if you don’t want to look fucked up. Go check in the mirror if you don’t believe me.”

Michael doesn’t. What he does do is pull the switchblade out of Ryan’s pocket and bare his teeth at the reflection. He must see what Jack sees, because he raises his fist to his mouth and uses the back of his hand to wipe it.

“You want some breakfast, or is going to fuck up your new look?” Jeremy asks.

“I’ve been up for hours already. Not hungry. Thanks though.” 

Ryan considers his plate of spiced scrambled eggs and abandons it in favour of questions. “You got anything like the rest of the outfit?”

“What are you on about?” Gavin asks, like he’s the idiot.

“Do you mean the rest of the Cosmo look, not just the power lipstick? Because I’m not sure what statement Michael’s trying to make, but I’m not sure that’s what it is.”

Ryan gets that Jack is trying to be helpful, and let Michael explore a spectrum without being judged. She’s a fucking great woman. He just knows that she’s wrong. “The hooker the other night. She had red lipstick like this. Did you manage to match anything else?” Ryan would really love to see Michael in a skirt that short.

If Michael’s regretting bringing this all up, he doesn’t show it. That’s Mogar for you, doing everything from a stance of giddy recklessness, a refusal to back down. “It’s at my safe house.”

‘Wait, what,’ comes from Geoff in the background. Ryan decides to talk over him. “Can I go with you to your safe house?”

“Shit, why the fuck not?”

All four of them watch as Ryan gets up and follows Michael to the door, stopping only to firmly tie the laces on a broken in pair of work boots. Michael’s been in and out in under two minutes, and Ryan has to wonder if this was part of his plan, like he knew someone would get it, had faith in his crew, and had the faith in his own sexiness to know the person would beg to be with him. He wonders if Michael would have gone home with any of them, gender irrelevant as long as they _got it_. It’s not like it’s the first time there’s been inter-crew relationships. He knows Jack and Geoff have a history. Jeremy, exclusively dom and top but neutral on gender, has had his nights with Gavin, breaking him down and building him up again. Ryan’s fooled around with Gavin too, the rare nights he chooses to get drunk. When he’s drunk he just wants to have fun, consequences be dimmed. Not that Gavin ever seems to regret his choices either. Ryan knows Michael is bisexual, and can just as easily imagine him with Jack, all girl on top riding and ginger trimmed bush. 

But no. He’s the one who figured Michael out, and he’s the one going home with him. Ryan can’t remember the last time he felt so lucky about something that wasn’t avoiding getting shot dead during a heist or other encounter with pigs. He’s so looking forward to it that he doesn’t talk in the elevator down, just imagines Michael in a torn punk rock tutu and high wedged boots. 

Ryan doesn’t even attempt to stand near the drivers door. The only FAHC member that would have the maturity to not associate driving with masculinity and power is is, oddly enough, Gavin, who takes the stance of whatever gets him there, whether it be tank or tricycle, is good enough for him. By the time Ryan’s circled the car to the passenger seat, Michael’s got it unlocked. Ryan clicks in his seat belt, and knows he’s going to be counting the minutes until they get to Michael’s safehouse.

Except then Michael reveals something to him. “You know I actually came straight here from the shop. I didn’t see a point in trying to keep it a secret.”

“Wait, so your shit is in the car?”

“Yeah, back seat.”

Ryan twists in his set to look behind him. Sure enough, there’s a bag on the seat, a reusable bag because even criminals get sick of paying five cents for every bag they need to buy from the cashier. “Why the fuck didn’t you put it on before coming in then?”

“Where was I supposed to do that? I can sit in the car and do my lipstick, but do you see any change rooms anywhere on the sidewalk?”

“You don’t need a change room. Get out of the car.” Ryan unclicks his belt, and reaches into the backseat to get the bag before hopping out and circling back to Michael’s side. “Change here. Right now. I’ll shoot anyone who looks at you funny.”

And maybe because he trusts Ryan to do that exact thing, maybe because Ryan’s fever to do this has gotten him hot too, Michael gets out of the car. He shrugs off his brown patched leather jacket, takes off his plain white tee, and reaches into the bag Ryan’s still holding. His sneakers and jeans and underwear come off next. When Michael’s finished, he’s in a white spaghetti strapped shirt, the kind of shit that looks great on a boho A-cup vegan. It’s a hell of a contrast to the tiny green and navy plaid miniskirt. It’s just long enough to hide Michael’s balls, but no longer. He’s still got his sneakers on though, no elaborately tied high heels. A man after Ryan’s practical heart, apparently.

“Unless you say no right now, or take a swing, I’m going to fuck you right here. On the street. In front of any number of pedestrians, though the promise sticks, they won’t fuck with you. They’ll have to watch the girl with a head in her lap from afar.”

Michaels answer is to hop up on the hood, legs spread. There’s not even enough fabric in the piece for anything to drape over his junk, Ryan can fully see everything.

And yes, he wants to fuck Michael right here, right now. Spit in Michael’s ass enough, make it phlegmy enough that they can get away with the scant lubricant on the condom. But he won’t. He can be better than that, can do something that’s not just about him. Ryan strokes his hands up Michael’s nearly hairless legs, pushes them up the scant fabric. He bends until his nose is in Michael’s groin and takes a deep sniff. Ryan’s mostly gay, like nine men to one woman, and it’s essentially because of this smell. As lovely and feminine as Michael looks in the clothing he’s wearing, that musk is something only a man can provide Ryan.

He sucks Michael’s cock while he’s splayed on the car, reaches up and squeezes Michael’s chest like he’s got tits, lifts off for a second to comment about how wet Michael is for him, just like a slutty girl. It’s half roleplay and half something beyond. Ryan doesn’t know exactly how to describe this sexual suspension of belief, just knows it’s hot enough to drive him out of his mind. 

Ryan’s second source of protein this morning occurs at ten forty five am, when Michael lets out a breathy moan and spills into his mouth. Ryan doesn’t try to coax him through much of an aftershock, instead choosing to open his jeans and start jerking off. He comes on Michael’s bare thighs, then pulls down the skirt and slaps the fabric so it sticks to the strings of jizz. Ryan’s not sure if Michael got any sting with the slaps, but he can hope so. He might not be to Jeremy’s level of domination, but he likes to think he has a glimmer or two.

“Dirty girls don’t get clean clothes,” he says, just about the last bit of seduction he can manage before he collapses forward onto the car.

By the time he can stand and pull up his jeans, Michael has hopped off the car. He tries to pull the damp fabric away from his skin, tries to fix his skirt, but it just wetly flops back into place.

“So clearly I’m showering, and doing some laundry today,” Michael huffs a laugh. “What are your plans?”

“How about I follow you to your private safe house?”

“What, you want a round two?”

“If a round two is what you call fucking you ten different ways in a day, until you’re coated from head to toe in our jizz. A pretty little cumdumpster girl.”

“Damn, son. Okay. Get in the car.”

As Michael starts to drive them to the safe house, Ryan starts looking at his phone. Just as he does, the group chat icon pops a bubble with a one.

**Next sticker challenge** , Geoff has sent in the group chat.

**Already** Ryan sends. He’s not exactly in the headspace for something complicated now.

**Take a picture of a couple having sex... 321 go!**

The group chat blows up with pings as Geoff, Jack, Jeremy and Gavin all immediately send pictures with slightly different angles of a couple fucking stories beneath them in the street. A couple with a very recognisable custom paint job on the car’s roof.

**Fuck off, all of you.** Ryan sends back with no hope of them actually shutting up. But it’s nice, to know they’re all cool enough with it to make a joke. Despite all the intercouple pairing off that’s happened successfully, Ryan always worries that the next one is the one to ruin everything. Knowing that once again it’s not true, and that the crew is fine is a huge relief, enough to make his morning.


End file.
